I am not one of those crazy cat ladies. I know they’re animals. I refuse to join the ranks of idiot pet-owners who think their kitties are people.

I have drawn some lines. For example, I will NOT put clothing on my kittens. If they lose their mittens, they’ll have to EARN another pair. And when people start ringing the doorbell at all hours of the day and night wanting pawprints and photo ops, I will oblige. For a dollar.

No, my kittie girls are cats, and cats are animals, and animals should not be treated like people.

First of all, I haven’t done anything that might be considered “pampering” or “catering” since the three kitties came to live with me.

There is no condo in my living room.

Vera ain’t all that cute. I don’t pay much attention to her, really.

Helga ain’t so purty, either. I never pet her.

Millicent ain’t all that, either. Really, I pretty much ignore all three kitties most of the time.

Whenever I sit at my computer, I kick off whatever shoes I’m wearing and usually just leave them under there. In the summer, the shoe-pile consists of dirty sandals. The kittie girls like to nap on top of the shoe-pile. Perhaps they like the smell. . . .

If my feet are still in the shoes under my desk, the kitties sit on top of my feet. Sometimes, they use my legs as a scratching post. I can take a hint. You don’t have to push me down the stairs to make a point.

I’ll shave my legs already.